Dan Hodges is a former Labour Party and GMB trade union official, and has managed numerous independent political campaigns. He writes about Labour with tribal loyalty and without reservation. You can read Dan's recent work here

In that instant the warmth of the day dissipated. The morning chorus fell silent. On the nape of my neck I felt fear’s cold caress. Somewhere in the distance, a church bell tolled.

What in the name of God do we think we're doing? What are we doing to them? What are we doing to ourselves?

On Monday, The Australians arrive in London. And we know what they bring with them. Fire. Death. Destruction. The same things they always bring.

Standing in their way? Debilitating complacency. Uncharacteristic English overconfidence. An insidious belief that things are “shaping up nicely”.

As I watched Alastair Cook easing another gentle full toss from Kane Williamson to the boundary yesterday, I said to myself, “this is not good. This is looking too good. This can’t be good. This is bad”.

Ashes cricket has one constant: when England are expected to perform badly, they do well. When they are expected to perform well, they do badly.

Go back to where it all started, that glorious summer of 2005. England were expected to get hammered. And in the first test at Lords they were indeed hammered, and subsequently written off. So they turned up at Edgbaston and smashed 400 runs in under 80 overs, securing a first innings lead of nearly 100. At which point they became favourites for the match.

True to form, they promptly collapsed in their second innings, leaving Australia to score an eminently gettable 282. Then, with Australia cruising at 47 without loss and once more on course for the match and series, up popped Andrew Flintoff to tear the Australian middle-order to shreds.

With only three Australian wickets left and still 150 runs behind, the match was again over. But England being England, they contrived to let Australia get within three runs before Steve Harmison had Michael Kasprowicz caught behind (and even then, if DRS been in use at the time they’d have lost because Kasprowickz’s hand was off the bat when the ball hit his glove).

And that’s set the pattern for Ashes clashes ever since. In 2006/07, England arrived in Australia with the highest expectations in decades and were promptly whitewashed 5-0. They were also expected to win in 2009. So in the first test they let Australia smash 674 and only hung on by one wicket. Then, just as people were again writing them off, they won at Lords. At which point they were favourites. So they contrived to lose by an innings at Headingly. At which point they were again written off. So they won at the Oval.

It was the same in 2010/11. Arriving in Australia they were favourites. So in Brisbane they were bundled out for 260, giving Australia a first innings lead of 220. By common consent they were dead and buried. So out came Alastair Cook to play arguably the greatest ever innings by an English batsman, saving the match.

In Adelaide they destroyed Australia by an innings and 71 runs. The series was over, people said. England were clearly just too good for Australia. And how did England choose to prove it? By going to Perth and losing by 267 runs.

Now it was Australia with their tails up. The boxing day test at Melbourne. A 100,000 capacity crowd. Ricky Ponting’s moment to strike. England bowled them out for 98 and retained the Ashes.

So what if Ryan Harris cannot bowl without the aid of crutches? Or Michael Clark is not speaking to Shane Watson. Or Phil Hughes still believes his stumps are 12 feet wide.

To win the Ashes England must believe they are on the brink of losing the Ashes. Stiff upper lips. Backs to the wall. A wicket that looks like it was laid upon the sand of Dunkirk.

It’s not as if there aren’t plenty of good solid causes for pessimism. A new and relatively untested captain in Alastair Cook. An unfit Kevin Pietersen with one eye on the IPL. Jonathan Trott batting like Chris Tavare on Valium.

And even if we do see the Burnley Express tearing through David Warner’s fragile defences, or Joe Root lifting Nathan Lyon lazily over long-on, surely we have an obligation, as patriotic Englishmen, to keep those thoughts to ourselves? In the England hotel this morning, as the players were fighting to get their toast and orange juice and a table as far away from Graeme Swann as possible, one or two of them will have picked up the paper. And they will have read those 10 little words. Even as we speak, they are slowly transiting from the subconscious to the muscle and sinew that propels that red leather ball and presents that stout piece of willow.